


2 dudes, sitting in a bookshop, 5 feet apart cause they're NOT GAY

by shella688



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Established Relationship, M/M, Vampire!Aziraphale, Vampire!Crowley, most other character details are basically the same
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19448665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shella688/pseuds/shella688
Summary: Aziraphale is the proud owner of one antique book dealership which doesn't make anywherenearenough profit to still be open now.Crowley has freeloaded his way through life so far and sees no reason to stop now.They have been through the entire enemies-friends-lovers spiral and have come out the other end feeling quite please with themselves.And - quite importantly - they are both vampires, and were turned at a similar time about 6000 years ago.Or: two vampires get drunk, shenanigans ensue





	2 dudes, sitting in a bookshop, 5 feet apart cause they're NOT GAY

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go: the AU no-one asked for but you're all getting anyway
> 
> (spoiler alert: they are, in fact, gay)

Two vampires are collapsed over a sofa in what would otherwise be a bookshop that's chaotic, but does have an organisation system there somewhere. Earlier today they had enjoyed a meal (nice is probably an overstatement) at a chain restaurant but right now they were outrageously drunk on mid-priced alcohol. The lights are off but they can see fine.

(Fine for drunk vampires, anyway)

Aziraphale is doing a remarkable job at sitting upright. He was only _slightly_ slouching and it's not like anyone's watching anyway. Crowley on the other hand...

Well he's not even trying.

His head is resting on Aziraphale's lap, his legs are dangling over the arm rest and he's waving his arms in the air vaguely - only narrowly avoiding slapping Aziraphale.

"'S the bloody... the wossname...." Crowley failed spectacularly to make a point but did succeed in hitting Aziraphale's nose.

"The silver?" suggested Aziraphale, pulling a face.

"The silver!" Crowley sat up suddenly, lost his balance and collapsed back down again. Hard. Aziraphale let out a sound that could be written as _oomph_.  
"'M telling you angel - 's all one big conspiracy. When was the last time you saw your face in the mirror eh?"

Aziraphale was giving this question far more thought than it required, but before he could say anything Crowley was off again.

"And it's all because of the bloody silver! They put it in the... the wossname... mirrors! 'M telling you again - mirror makers hate us vamps."

Aziraphale let out a noise of protest.  
"Nonono don't call us vamps, my dear boy, like we're some _boy band_." Aziraphale shuddered. In his opinion, good music had ended with the decline of organs and Gregorian choirs.

(He did have a soft spot for the gavotte, however)

There was a silence as both vampires considered the implications of Crowley's accusations. Aziraphale was sliding slowly further down the sofa, and something that could have been a snort or maybe a snore came from near Crowley's head. All their thousands of years of experience hadn't prepared them for difficult problems like this. Then...

"Crowley. Crowley. _Crowley_."  
" _I'm listening, angel._ "  
"What if... what if we acted as each other's mirrors? Like -"  
Aziraphale didn't have chance to finish. He had been interrupted by Crowley, who was gently but firmly squashing the other's cheeks.  
"That'd be _bloody brilliant_."

__________

The vampires are still sprawled over the sofa, but they have a clear view of each other's face. Given the sheer quantity of empty bottles around them, this is as good as they're going to get.

Aziraphale let out a hiccup in the way drunk humans typically don't. He is staring intently at Crowley's hair.

(The lights are still off. Aziraphale may be intelligent but that doesn't mean he has common sense.)

"'S dark for sure." He nodded in a self-satisfied sort of way.  
"The room?"  
" _No_ my dear, your hair. 'S all... spooky." Aziraphale elongated this final word and made a face that failed impressively to be scary despite the addition of two very sharp, very real, fangs.  
"Wine-dark my dear friend Homer would have said."  
"Well d'oh"

(It really is a shame Aziraphale has no knowledge of pop culture. Crowley had been working on that one ever since he learned that Aziraphale had known Homer personally)

Crowley thought for a moment. He reached one arm up languidly to tug on Aziraphale's mop of hair.  
"It's like a... like a sheep," he said decisively. Aziraphale frowned and went to pat his hair - to ensure that it was indeed still his hair and not, say, a small ovine mammal.  
"A curly, fluffy, cute, little, fluffy..." Crowley trailed off, instead concentrating on stroking Aziraphale's hair.  
"Sheep?" protested Aziraphale. Honestly - you do nothing but care for someone for nearly 6000 years and they repay you by calling you a sheep? Well, he (Aziraphale) would be damned if he (Crowley) thought insults could be gotten away with like this and he (Aziraphale) wasn't going to let it slide, no indeed.

This was a complex thought for one drunk vampire. Before he could properly organise it, Crowley had started speaking again.  
"Whaddabout my eyes, eh, angel?" He did something with his face, and it took Aziraphale a while to recognise it as something supposed to be a winsome smile.  
"Well... they're yellow..." Crowley nodded. People had a tendency to bring that bit up in conversation.  
"'S them sunglasses you always wear, my dear boy. Your eyes can't pot- phota- they don't get enough light. Should be green, not yellow."

(Aziraphale had enjoyed - if that's the right word - a brief stint as a gardener some years back and learned absolutely nothing about plants either then or since. He failed to see the point in such short lives anyway.)

"Angel, we're _vampires_. We can't go into the sin- sunlight," said Crowley. He let the bit about photosynthesis slide. Whilst Crowley did care for a great number of plants, he just assumed their proximity to an immortal like him would give them the inspiration needed to stay alive. He didn't actually _know_ anything.

__________

A short aside: Crowley is using the word "angel" as a term of endearment, as opposed to a descriptor about Aziraphale's species.

Angels, of course, do not exist.

Besides, Aziraphale was too much of a bastard to be an angel. Crowley knew full well the lengths the other had gone to to ensure his shop remained so full of rare books yet empty of patrons.

__________

Crowley is on the floor. It wasn't a conscious decision, exactly, he just kind of... slithered down. He is scrutinizing Aziraphale - specifically, Aziraphale's eyes.

"Y'know how some bastard said eyes are the window to the soul?"

"My shoes are fine. Got no holes in 'em, 'specially not any windows," muttered Aziraphale, petulantly.

  
Crowley either didn't hear or didn't bother to respond.

  
"Well I looked in them eyes of yours and said... I said to myself that's a soul alright." He stretched out on the floor.  
"Blue," he added, as if it would make things clearer. Then he sighed; Aziraphale was still grumbling to himself and didn't seem to understand the gravitas of Crowley's statement.

Grunting, he pulled himself up so he was partly on the sofa, partly hanging off, but mostly on top of Aziraphale.  
"When I became a vampire, I didn't think I'd ever see a blue sky again, 'cause of the... the thing, with the Sun." Crowley checked to make sure Aziraphale was still paying attention.  
"But then, _but_ _then,_ I looked into your eyes. An' 's like I've got my own sky. Right there," he said, pointing at Aziraphale and dangerously close to taking an eye out, "right here, with you."

Crowley fell back down, landing face-first on the floor with a _thunk_. He started humming something that sounded suspiciously like the chorus to _What Makes you Beautiful_ \- not like Aziraphale would have recognised it anyway.

"Crowley?"  
"Mmm?"  
"I love you."  
"'S okay, angel."

A beat, then:  
"Love you too."


End file.
